I’m not gonna lie: this past week has felt like one great big anxiety attack. Every. Single. Day. I can’t focus. I can hardly function. I feel like nothing at all has been accomplished.

Okay. I’ll stop the normal crap and cut straight to the point.

On Wednesday, we found out that we are well over income limit for our apartment now and we are going to have to move by the end of April, if not sooner. I can’t say I’m all that surprised. For a couple of weeks, I have been browsing around just looking for things to rent. I was sort of expecting us to have to move, but I didn’t expect it to happen so suddenly. Sometimes it doesn’t even feel like this is reality.

Once you get used to something, losing it is hard. It’s different when you willfully let it go. You’ve given yourself the chance to mentally prepare ahead of time and ultimately decided that it was for the best. I’d love to say I was prepared for this, but I’d be lying through my teeth. We are taking a complete leap of faith here; we’re going to buy a house. At least, we are going to try to.

I’ve spent the past couple of days arguing with myself in my mind over this. My husband is perfectly adamant and ready to jump right in. I, on the other hand, am not. Though I have decided that leaving this place behind is for the best. We’re letting God take our hands and lead us where we should go. Change is nice. Change is good.

On Tuesday, I went to the doctor with some rather unusual complaints (which I will not detail here) and ended up having blood work done. Now, let me be the first to admit that I HATE needles. I’m not even sure that the capital letters, bold typeface, and underline were all enough to really justify my hatred for having needles stuck into my skin, for any and all reasons. I accept that it is a part of life. I tolerate it, at best. When I was a kid, my mom and the nurse both used to have to chase me around the room and hold me down to give me a shot. I am proud to admit that I’m not quite that dramatic anymore, though I will admit to turning into a baby just as soon as they tie the string around my arm.

I also bruise just about every single time I have any blood removed from my body or anything introduced into my body. This time was no exception and I have to say that this is probably the worst needle-induced bruising I have seen yet and it seems to be growing larger rather than diminishing. I’m not really exaggerating here; it looks pretty bad.

Nonetheless, I took both needle pricks and didn’t shed even one tear. Yes, I said both. The first stick didn’t quite get the vein, so she had to do it again. Also, I nearly passed out and the nurse convinced me to move down the hall to an exam room to lie down…just in case.

I have been anxiously waiting for the results since then. I called both today and yesterday, but the doctor was out sick yesterday and she has not had the opportunity to review the results. I won’t go into any details, but there’s one thing in particular I am really looking to find out and it’s driving me nuts!

I am praying that next week is much, much better. I am going to try to use this weekend to start cleaning out some clutter that should have been addressed weeks–if not months–ago. I’m really trying to have an optimistic point of view on all of this. I don’t think I am exactly succeeding, considering the massive amount of anxiety weighing heavy on my heart. At least I seem to be finally trying, though.


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